


Everything You Have

by omgbubblesomg



Series: Mind Over Matter [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, At Least He Thinks He's Cursed, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, But I think he's about to find out, Crying Dean, Cursed Dean, Dark Sam Winchester, Dean Crying During Sex, Dean Doesn't Know, Demon Blood Addiction, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Forced Arousal, Forced Orgasm, Fuck Or Die, Gaslighting, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Rape/Non-con, Rough Oral Sex, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Curse, Shower Sex, Soulless Sam Winchester, Telekinesis, Top Sam, everything is non-con, oh boy where do I even begin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: Dean thinks he's been hit by a sex curse that keeps him painfully hard until Sam gets inside him, but Sam knows the truth. He's been using telekinesis to get Deanin the mood, so he can fuck his big brother whenever he wants.A.k.a. the one where dark!Sam manipulates his brother into a blowjob and Dean isn't allowed to refuse.





	Everything You Have

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of a series, but you don't have to read them in order. Although the first gives a bit of background to Sam's appetite for Dean ;)
> 
> This is definitely the darkest one so far. Be warned.

There were pros and cons to controlling your brother’s sex life.

For example:

Pro: sex whenever you wanted.

Con: you had to pretend you didn’t want it.

Pro: sex literally WHENEVER you wanted.

Con (and this was a big one): the fucking  _guilt complex_  that accompanies said sex.

Demon powers were absurdly useful, but they didn’t come without their drawbacks. Sure, Sam could throw people around like ragdolls and exorcise demons without lifting a finger, but  _emotions_ … damn, they were hard to get rid of.

His brother, for instance, was made of some kind of emotional superglue. He latched onto the most ridiculous things and then refused to give them up. His pride, for example. His guilt, too, and his fucking stubborn  _inability_  to just  _let_  Sam fucking  _fuck him_.

And frankly?

It was getting tiring.

Five months ago he had decided that Dean was  _his_ , and he had been using telepathy to keep Dean soft until he felt…  _in the mood_. Then he would direct some blood, squeeze a few nerves…  _et voilà_. Instant horny brother.

He was embarrassed, really, that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Just one mental flick and Dean was a sweaty  _mess_ , almost begging Sam to fuck him.

And it was amazing. Always. Dean, who had never had anyone in his tight hole before Sam. Dean, who moaned like a bitch in heat. Whose skin bruised  _so easily_  under Sam’s fingers.

It was the best sex on the market, really. And almost constantly available, since they travelled together.

But Dean never  _wanted_  it. He thought it was a witch curse or something.

And hey, Sam was okay with that most of the time. But it was getting out of control. He had to keep pretending to  _care_. And his caring face was slipping.

Sooner or later Dean was going to clue in. Sam wasn’t arrogant enough to think that he was going to outwit Dean forever, and so he had been preparing. Some day Dean would figure out the demon blood, and the Ruby thing, and all the other stuff, and maybe he would figure out how to get Sam clean, but there was no way either of them would be able to forget the way Dean  _howled_  when Sam got up inside him.

So Sam had been assembling some truly divine images for the two of them to remember.

He started with the sex stuff, obviously. Dean in every position he could manage. On his back. Against the wall. On all fours. In the shower. On the floor. In the impala. Once, memorably, in aisle 74 at the state library. He had catalogued every muscle. The way Dean would sweat from the temples when he was on the edge. The way he trembled when Sam touched the base of his spine.

After the sex he tried other things. Everything he could get away with.

“Hey Dean, maybe if I put something inside you it would fool the curse into thinking you’re being fucked? This plug, perhaps?”

And then, a few hours later, “Oh well, guess that didn’t work. I’ll take it out and fuck you now. Maybe next time we can try something bigger?” And then he would watch closely as the plug slipped out of Dean’s body, cataloguing that image as well.

A week later: “Hey Dean, what if I blindfold you? Make it easier, maybe?”

And a week after that: “Oh no! We’re out of lube! Don’t worry, I’ll just use spit. Don’t kick me in the face, okay?” No way would either of them forget that night any time soon.

If Dean resisted, Sam just had to give a gentle (or not so gentle) tug at his testicles, or force more blood into his swollen dick, until Dean was writhing and would do anything to make it stop.

There was only one thing they hadn’t done, and Sam was determined to try it before he was outed. He had a plan.

Before the night was out, he was going to get a blow job from Dean Winchester.

\-----------------

 _I slept with my brother_.

Those five fucking words. Every second of every day. When he was eating he remembered what Sam’s name sounded like when he moaned it. When he was in the shower he remembered what Sam’s hands felt like on his skin. Hell, he didn’t even get a reprieve at the fucking  _library,_  because nine times out of ten he was there reading up on fucking  _sex curses_  because he had  _slept_  with his  _brother_.

It had started five months ago. Five months! Two of them Dean had spent in denial, ignoring the way he got hard when Sam was in the room, and desperately trying to find  _anyone_  else that his body would let him fuck.

Three months ago it had gotten so bad that Sam had finally noticed, and then…

…he had slept with his brother.

And it hadn’t been a one-time thing. Now every three or four days Dean’s body would react so strongly to the curse that he would crawl to his brother’s bed and… they would do… _it_.

Sam did a good job of pretending he was fine, though. In fact, he seemed calmer about it than Dean was. He never flinched when Dean crawled up beside him. He was handling it scarily well.

In fact he was currently chatting to one of the girls at the bar. He was leaning in close to whisper something in her ear, and how the  _hell_  he did that was a complete fucking mystery to Dean, who was incapable of having a conversation with  _anyone_  without thinking about it. Without thinking those five fucking words.

 _I slept with my brother_.

Sam’s head tipped back as he laughed, and the waitress blushed and eyed the line of his throat.

And it happened.

_Jesus, fuck. Please, no._

His balls tightened, and the skin around his dick twisted.

_Not now, please. Not now._

He scrambled from his booth, leaving his half-drunk beer on the table. The ‘no beer gets left behind’ mentality didn’t apply when you were hard in public. Especially if you were hard for your  _brother._

In the bathroom he unzipped himself. He knew from experience that trying to get himself off would only make things worse so he just stared down at his throbbing crotch.

“Go away,” he told his aching balls. In direct retaliation his dick began to perk up. He tried to stare it down. “Fuck. Off.”

Of course, that’s how Sam found him; in a staring competition with his own dick, tensed in pain and denial.

“Dean! You have to tell me when it’s getting bad!”

Sam locked the door behind him, and crowded into Dean’s space, reaching immediately for his belt.

“’s not bad yet,” Dean lied, but his body betrayed him, already trying to grind into Sam’s hip, instinctively seeking the only release it knew it could get.

“I’m  _serious_ , Dean!”

“I know, I know, just- come  _on_ , Sam. Hurry up.” Sometimes Sam forgot that the curse fucking  _hurt_. As soon as they touched Dean turned into some kind of sex-starved lunatic, grabby and needy. Which was crazy, because he had never had such regular sex in his life. It was Sam, of course. The curse couldn’t get enough of him. Wouldn’t let Dean sleep, or eat, or take a piss, without reminding him that he would soon be fucking his brother.

Again.

Dean felt the familiar ache in his balls as the curse tightened its hold. His fingers trembled as he ripped a lube sachet open - he never left home without one, these days. He kicked his jeans off and slung one leg around his brother, who was still berating him.

“We have to be open about this stuff, Dean!”

Dean’s leg was around his waist and Dean’s dick was pressing against his open fly, and he was going on about being  _open_? Christ.

“Sam!” he growled. Sam just sighed, pulled Dean closer, and pushed into him.

They had grown fairly proficient at this over the last few months. Sam slid in easily, holding Dean’s thigh in place on his hip. Dean had to go on his toes when Sam straightened up, almost hanging off his dick. He gasped as the curse rewarded him, the pain turning instantly to pleasure.

They fucked rough, and fast. Dean’s toes kept leaving the floor when Sam pushed up too far, until finally Sam just picked up his other leg and fucked him against the wall and  _holy shit_ , when did Sam get that strong? He was being _held up_ as though he weighed  _nothing_.

“Jesus, Sam,” he groaned, and Sam covered his mouth with one hand, not even breaking his rhythm.

“Shh,” he whispered, “Don’t speak. Just come.”

Dean came.

“What was that for?” he panted a minute later. Sam was tucking himself back in, looking fresh and clean. Dean, on the other hand, had painted his own chest with jizz, and Sam’s spunk was leaking down his thighs. Sam straightened his shirt.  _How_  was he  _so calm_? Dean wanted to shake him.  _You just had incestuous sex in a seedy bathroom!_  he wanted to yell.  _You just fucked your own brother into the wall!_  

“Genie’s waiting for me at the bar,” Sam said nonchalantly, unfazed.

“G- _Genie_?”

“The girl at the bar. Her place is only a few blocks away, and I said I’d walk her home.”

Dean spluttered. Sam had a  _date?_

“Well, you won’t need me tonight, after this,” he gestured at Dean’s come-stained clothes.

Dean tried to nod. This was a good thing. Of course it was a good thing. Sam wasn’t the cursed one, Dean was. Sam didn’t have to go on a sex sabbatical just because of Dean.

“Yeah, right,” he said, trying to inject cheerfulness into his voice and failing. “Have fun.”

“It’s been so long,” Sam said wistfully, already heading for the door. “At least now I won’t embarrass myself by coming too soon.”

“Right,” Dean said as Sam slipped out of the bathroom. Sam meant that it had been so long since he’d been with a  _woman._ Because of course Dean didn’t count.

He cleaned himself up and left. Sam wasn’t in the bar; was probably already walking  _Genie_  (what kind of a name was that, anyway?) back home. Dean climbed into the Impala alone.

\-------------

After a shower and a few more beers, Dean slipped into bed. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments, and sighed. Sam was having sex with some girl. Dean tried to remember the last time he had taken a girl home, and couldn’t. Sam was fucking someone called  _Genie_  and wasn’t that just a piece of fucking irony, because Dean would have spent every single one of Aladdin’s wishes to swap places with his brother right now.

 _Don’t be jealous of Sam_ , he warned himself.

And then it happened again.

One moment he was on his back, staring at the mouldy ceiling, and the next he was curled in on himself as his crotch fucking  _ignited_.

“Jesus  _fuck_  this can’t be happening!” He pawed blindly at the nightstand, reaching for his phone but succeeding only in knocking over the lamp and smashing the glass bottle of lube they’d left out two days ago. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck _FUCK!_ ” He tried to get out of the bed but the bedsheets had wrapped around his legs and he tumbled to the ground instead. “Sam!” He had to call his brother, had to get him home. Had to… had to… “SAM!” he hollered at the empty room.

A few miles away Sam grinned to himself as he bit at Genie’s ear. Hiding the phone and tangling the bedsheets had been a particularly clever idea, really. Just a reminder for Dean that he was helpless without Sam.

The girl made pretty noises under his hands, and Dean made pretty noises under his mental ministrations, and he knew he didn’t really  _have_  to fuck her, but he did it anyway, just because he could. He didn’t even have to coerce her, she was genuinely wet for him, and as he pushed into her he tightened his mental grip on Dean until he could feel him shaking. Phase one of his plan was going pretty fucking good, he thought.

Commence phase two.

\-------------

Dean crawled to the shower and turned the cold tap all the way on. He couldn’t find his phone, so he would have to wait for Sam to come home. If he was still alive by then, that was. He felt like his body was being ripped in two, like maybe his skin had been replaced by volcanic residue. Which made  _no sense_  because Sam had fucked him only a few hours ago, and the curse was usually a much slower build.

He curled himself into a ball beneath the freezing spray, and tried not to imagine his dick turning into a literal ball of fire.

About an hour later the front door opened and Dean heard Sam’s characteristic footsteps. “Sam!” he called, and his voice sounded weak even to himself.

“Dean! You’re still up?”

Dean groaned in response. He had left the door open, and he waited for Sam to come in, but it sounded like his brother was in the kitchen popping a beer instead. He tried again. “Sam!”

“Oh man, I needed that, Dean. You have no idea. She was  _amazing_. Absolutely  _insatiable_. She just kept going and going and - hey, are you okay?” Sam had stuck his head into the bathroom and finally noticed Dean curled up on the floor. 

Dean just looked at him and groaned.

“Dean! Holy shit, what happened?” Sam came close, put the empty beer on the bathroom cabinet, and knelt on the bathroom tiles next to Dean’s head. “Dean! Is it the curse? This… this shouldn’t be happening!”

“You’re telling me,” Dean said through clenched teeth. His whole body was tight like a live wire and there was an inferno where his dick was supposed to be. He made grabby hands at his brother. “Come on, come on.”

Sam evaded his weak attempts to get him closer. “No, wait, Dean, just—hold up, man. This isn’t right. Did you do something while I was gone? You didn’t try that countercurse again, did you?”

“ _No,_ Sam. _Jesus._ ” The anti sex-curse they had tried last month had left Dean with a painful erection for four hours. Dean was wary of countercurses now. “Just, wouldya—come _on,_ man. I need… you gotta… _fuck_.”

Sam blushed and looked away, suddenly sheepish. “I, uh… don’t think I’m gonna be able to tonight, Dean.”

“You WHAT?” His dick was about to explode.

Sam’s blush intensified. “I just, you know, I thought after tonight… you wouldn’t, um, you wouldn’t need me again.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve got anything more to give, man.”

Dean clenched his teeth so hard he could feel his jaw creaking. “That better. Be. A joke,” he grit out. The cold water suddenly felt like ice pickets on his skin. He wanted to claw his dick off.

“Look, just give me a few hours sleep, okay?”

Dean stared at him. “A few _hours?_ ” he hissed. They both knew he couldn’t last that long.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, Jesus, I’ll try, okay? But I’m telling you I do _not_ think my body has another one in it.”

“Try,” Dean begged. “Come on, Sam, come on, _fuck,_ feels like it’s gonna burst into flames, man. You gotta… you gotta…” He almost cried with relief when Sam started pulling his clothes off. The worst kind of feedback loop after months of his body getting relief only when Sam was naked. “Yeah,” he chanted, “yes, come on, Sam, faster, come on.”

Sam stepped into the cubicle and hissed at the icy spray, immediately turning it to hot. Dean had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming as the burning shards landed on his overly-sensitive skin. He scrambled out of the way until he was sitting in the corner on Sam’s left, knees pulled up to his chest and dick feeling fat and swollen with pain, like a single pinprick might pop it.

Sam grabbed for the soap and squirted some out, lathering his hands. “What’re you doing?” Dean groaned.

“Come on, man. I’ve still got Genie’s lipstick all over me. Unless you wanna get fucked while I stink like someone else?”

 _I don’t wanna get fucked at all,_ he thought to himself, but out loud he said, “I couldn’t give a shit if you smell like Aladdin’s lamp, Sam, just, jesus, would you hurry it up?”

Sam eyed him sideways but continued the thorough—and extremely slow—routine. Dean cracked the back of his head on the tiles, and kind of hoped that he’d pass out. The fire had spread into his thighs. “Sam,” he gasped. “Sam, come on.”

Sam lathered his hands again and then, _thank god,_ wrapped one soapy palm around himself, eyes closed and head titled back into the spray.

Dean watched, mesmerised. Sam jacking off was not a new image, not by a long shot, but he’d never been down here when it happened. At eye level with the show. He realised just how enormous Sam was. A tree trunk instead of a dick, and for a moment he was stupidly proud that he had fit that monstrosity inside of him, but then he remembered who the monstrosity belonged to and he felt ill again.

Sam put his other hand on the shower wall and leaned forward so the hot water went down his back. His dick looked disinterested as fuck, and now that Dean was taking the time to notice he realised that it really was looking tender.

“Jesus, Sammy, you better be able to get that thing up I swear to god.”

“Well it might be a little _easier_ if I had something to listen to that was a modicum sexier than your whining, jerk.”

Dean bit back a retort as his balls zapped with pain. Fuck. _Fuck._ Something must have set the curse off. He needed to get fucked in the next ten minutes or he was going to straight up die from a penis explosion.

He had a vindictive sense of satisfaction at the thought of Sam trying to explain _that_ to the motel manager.

“Okay,” he said, breathing out through his mouth and in through his nose, which he had seen somewhere was supposed to calm you down. His heartbeat rabbitted away regardless. “Um, okay, Sam, come on, you… you’re doing great. So… so hot, Sam.” He winced so hard his head cracked on the tiles again.

“That your attempt at dirty talk?” Sam asked, smirking with his eyes closed. He squirted out more soap, though his dick was still soft between his legs.

Dean tried to think about something else. Cassie had loved it when he spoke dirty. He clenched his eyes, trying to remember the specifics of what she had loved. “Want you so bad,” he told her memory, though it was really Sam he was talking to. “Want to make you feel good, baby. Wanna be inside—I mean, want you to be inside me, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby,” Sam muttered, but he didn’t sound pissed off. Dean opened his eyes to check and found his gaze locked with Sam, who was staring down at him. Sam grunted as soon as their eyes met. “Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured. Dean couldn’t look away fast enough, but as soon as he did Sam growled. “Hey! Don’t stop. I won’t get there on my own.”

Dean couldn’t help the full body shudder. “God dammit, Sam, you think I’m gonna stare at you while you’re—” Whatever he had been going to say was cut off with a sharp cry as his balls twisted, as though they were screw-in lightbulbs instead of sensitive members of his anatomy.

He was so fucked. He needed to get fucked _yesterday_ , and Sam was as limp as lettuce. “F-fuck,” he stuttered, “okay, okay, um…” He forced himself to lock eyes with his brother, who pumped out some more soap and kept working himself. In his head, he said the words W _ant you so deep inside me that I’ll feel you tomorrow,_ and took a deep breath to gear himself up. _Want you so deep inside me._ He just had to say it out loud. Say it out loud. _Say it out loud._ God _dammit_ just say it out loud!

“Want you,” he managed, and then choked a bit. Sam raised an eyebrow at him, and Dean forced the rest of it out. “Want you inside me, Sam. Want you so deep inside me that I’ll still feel you tomorrow.” Dean felt a gag rising in his throat, but Sam looked… Sam looked _horny._

“Yeah?” he gasped, and was it Dean, or did his dick finally look like it was perking up?

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, trying not to grimace. His entire lower half was ablaze and he had to fight for the next part. _What came next?_ “Want… want your dick as far inside me as it’ll go, Sam. Want to make it good. Need you to make it feel good. _Nngh._ ” His dick gave a drawn out throb, as though someone had squeezed it. It was pleasure, but not the good kind. Too much. Too sensitive. He could have cried from it. “ _Aaah!_ Sam _please!”_

Sam was jacking himself with the longest strokes Dean had ever seen. So slow and precise it looked more like he was waltzing with his dick instead of fisting it.

“Come _on,_ ” he moaned. “Go faster, Sam, _please._ ”

“I know what I’m doing,” Sam defended. “What happened to the dirty talk?”

“God, Sam, I can hardly _think,_ how am I supposed to— _aargh_.” His balls twisted. Sam was still doing those long, lazy strokes, and Dean could _see_ that they weren’t working, and he needed Sam now. _NOW._ He was going to bleed out through his eyeballs while Sam snailed his way down his own dick. “Come on, Sam, you can do— _uuah—_ you can do better than that. I know you can. Go _faster._ ”

“It _hurts,_ ” Sam snapped, and wasn’t that just classic.

“Does it?” Dean snarked. “Does it hurt? Gee, Sam, that’s a new one. Dunno what that might feel like.” His balls twisted menacingly but now that he had started he couldn’t stop. “You think you know what it feels like, huh? You think you know what it feels like for sex to be painful, Sam? Do you?”

“How is that my fault?” Sam hollered back, and then, god save him, he was taking his hand off his dick and whatever rise had been there started fading immediately.

“Don’t you dare,” Dean barked, and he grabbed Sam’s hand, tried to put it back before the last of the chub was lost. “Don’t you dare, Sam, don’t you fucking dare.” But Sam’s hand was still loose and slow, and there was no thought at all between one moment and the next, but suddenly it was Dean’s hand around Sam, holding firm, and Sam groaned so low that Dean thought he might come from muscle memory alone.

“Oh fuck, Dean, _yes._ ” Dean hadn’t even moved but Sam was already perking up, as though just Dean’s touch was enough.

Before he could even think of yanking his hand back, he felt a sharp tug in his balls that reminded him of the stakes, so instead of pulling away he moved his hand carefully up Sam’s length. His fingers only just met around the enormous size. Sam moaned again, so without letting himself think about the repercussions Dean raised his left hand to join his right, and gave an experimental squeeze.

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam moaned. “Yeah, just like that. Just like… _nngh._ More soap.”

Dean grabbed at the bottle and squeezed some directly over Sam’s cock, and then—oh sweet lord—watched as his own hand worked to smooth the lather into his brother’s erection. The water from the shower started running it off as soon as it was in, but Dean hardly noticed. Half of his body was smack bang in the middle of a volcano, but the other half, his arms and (jesusfuckingchrist) his _hands_ , they were up at eye level with Sam’s cock, working the monstrosity of his erection. And he was _watching_ _himself do it._

“Oh fuck,” he said weakly.

“Dean,” Sam warned, pulling away. “It hurts. More soap.”

He scrabbled for the stupid little bottle again, and it felt lighter than before. He pumped it once, twice, but nothing came out. He unscrewed the lid and looked inside but the entire thing was empty.

“Oh shit,” he said, and then jumped as he felt Sam’s hand on his head. The movement made his dick slap against his thigh, which felt as though he’d been shot in the crotch with a hive of bees.

“Dean, come on,” Sam said, unaware.

“There’s none left.”

“Huh?”

Dean showed him the empty bottle.

“Oh. We’ve got some lube though, right?”

Dean remembered the smashed bottle next to the bed. “No,” he moaned. “We don’t.”

“…Oh.”

“Don’t… just, I can… I can do it.” Sam gave him a handjob that first night, after all. Nothing to it. Nothing to it. But as he wrapped his hand back around Sam’s dick his brother jerked away.

“Dean, _ow._ ”

“Let me, come on, just—”

“Dean _stop,_ it _hurts._ ” Sam twitched away again. “Your hands are too calloused. We’ll just have to wait for the pharmacy to open tomorrow, okay?” Dean made a noise that could have been a wail, but Sam kept backing away, shaking his head. “Come on, man, you’ll be fine. Being hard won’t kill you.”

“You don’t understand,” Dean gasped, because it _would_ kill him _._ It was _torture,_ like electric wires and barbed wire and red-hot fire all shoved up in his intestines and wrapped around his dick.

“Don’t be so dramatic, you’ll last until morning.” But the pain was already too much, he was gonna burn from the inside out, and Sam was stepping out of the shower cubicle, turning away.

“Don’t,” he begged. “Don’t.” And he wasn’t sure if he was begging Sam or himself.

But he never had a choice, did he?

He put one hand on Sam’s hip, angled him back to the shower, and lowered his head to wrap his lips around the tip of his brother’s cock.

He had to do it, and that was all it was, that deep-seated need, but the moment his tongue touched Sam’s skin it was like the pain had just melted away. He had done it out of desperation but the throbbing urgent _redhotfireburnpain_ disappeared immediately and he couldn’t help the moan he let out, still wrapped around his brother. Sam moaned at the exact same time, but where Dean’s had been relieved, Sam’s was pure ecstasy.

He pulled off limply, breathing heavily. “Sorry, god Sam, m’sorry. Thought I was gonna _aaAAAH”_ The end was cut off by a scream as the blistering pain just _slammed_ back into place, exploding through his bottom half like a grenade had gone off in his pocket. His eyes squeezed shut and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed. He could distantly hear Sam calling his name, and he angled his face to the sound. “Sam!” he said, or maybe he didn’t say anything at all, because there was nothing left in his brain but the red-hot pain tearing through him and the knowledge that the person who could fix it was somewhere nearby. He opened his mouth and moved forward blindly, hoped Sam could figure out the rest, poked his tongue out to search before he felt something land hot and heaving on his cheek. He turned to it instinctively, his hips spasming in agony, and then— _thank god, thank god_ —relief like a wave of cool water. The pain dissipated and he would have passed out then and there without Sam’s hand at the back of his head, holding him in place with his mouth stretched around Sam’s dick.

He didn’t have anything left, and as the first tear made its way down his face he couldn’t even wipe it away. One tear could be blamed on the shower, but then another rolled down his cheek, and another, and he cried just like that, scared and exhausted and pitiful, on his knees with his mouth stuffed full.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, stroking his hair. “Dean, it’s okay, I’m right here.”

Dean couldn’t even back off to apologise to his brother. Sam didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve the curse. Shouldn’t have to deal with Dean crying and broken.

His sobs were muffled around Sam’s dick and the only bonus of the whole situation was that the stimulation was clearly doing enough to get a reaction. Dean’s mouth moving around his cries was chubbing Sam up and half of him was disgusted but the other half was too busy chanting _thankyouthankyouthankyou_ to complain.

He was insanely hard, ready to come, but the pain was gone and he could focus on Sam. Get him hard enough to fuck this curse out of his system.

\---------------

It was too good to be true. Dean’s eyes dew-heavy with tears and crying incomprehensibly around his dick. _Fuck,_ what a sight. What a fucking sight. As he stared down Dean slid his tongue forward, melting against Sam like a _dream._

“Ooh,” he sighed, “yeah, Dean. That feels good.” _Truth._ “It’s working.” _Truth._ “It’ll be over soon.” _Lie._

He slid his fingers through Dean’s hair and tugged, gently, gently. Dean slapped his hand away anyway so he slid a tendril of power through the locks instead, letting Dean think it was the water from the shower. _God,_ but his brother felt so good around him.

Dean brought a hand up to wrap around the base of Sam’s dick, and he jerked back, hissing, pretending to be hurt. “ _Ow,_ Dean, your hands are too calloused.” _Do it all with your mouth, big brother. Get me hard with nothing but your mouth._ As Dean dropped his hand Sam let a bead of precome slide out of the tip of his dick, giving his brother a taste. Dean couldn’t even lean back to spit it out, had to keep it in his mouth or swallow.

Without the use of his hands Dean tried to inch down, but he kept choking around Sam’s size. And _boy_ did that feel like heaven, tightening around him, but for the purpose of getting a decent blowjob he forced the muscles in Dean’s neck to relax and dampened the instinctive reflex to gag, so the next time Dean wormed his way down, almost three quarters of Sam’s dick disappeared, bulging out Dean’s cheeks and throat obscenely.

“Fuck yes,” he wheezed, and despite his best intentions he actually _was_ getting hard, much faster than he had planned. “Look at what you do to me,” he muttered, and thumbed at the corner of Dean’s mouth where his lips were stretched. Dean’s tongue licked at him from underneath, and their eyes locked as Dean sucked him, sliding back out as he did. The whites had gone bloodshot but the green— _fuck_ —the green was wet with unshed tears. Too green. Too bright. Sam trembled, and resisted the urge to just paint the inside of Dean’s mouth then and there. He forced a tendril of power into his own dick to make it fall a little as Dean slid up, loving the way Dean’s mouth tried to turn down in dismay. He urged Dean back down with a nudge against the back of his head.

It was good, too good to last, but he stretched it out as long as he could, watching the saliva leak out of Dean’s mouth in heavy ropes, and gifting him with drops of precome every few minutes as he bobbed and sucked and _cried._

It was too much. He felt his orgasm ride impossibly high, and he yanked himself out of Dean’s mouth, grabbing him by the hair and neck and hauling him upright. Dean’s feet weren’t even beneath him, Sam’s hands were the only thing holding him up, so when Sam swung him around to face the shower wall he went easily, falling against it and trying to get his balance, hips canting back _perfectly,_ like it was instinct to present himself.

Sam grabbed himself with one hand, and Dean’s hip with the other, and slammed into place, coming immediately. It must have hurt, with only Dean’s spit easing the way, but as he shuddered through his own pleasure he couldn’t find it in him to care. He barely remembered to force an orgasm into his brother, too.

Sixty seconds later they were both gasping and spent. Usually this was the time Dean took to clean himself up, erasing all evidence of Sam from his body, but tonight he didn’t even step back into the spray of the shower. He yanked himself off Sam’s cock, ignoring his disgruntled yelp, and stalked from the bathroom. Sam turned the water off and followed. Dean went straight to the kitchen, still naked with Sam’s come dribbling down his thighs and tears on his cheeks, and grabbed the whiskey. He cracked it open and chugged from it like it was Gatorade, and Sam knew he should say something—knew that the _real_ Sam would say something. _Hey Dean, stop that,_ or _Don’t be like that,_ or some other inanity, but as Dean swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed, he stayed silent.

Dean pulled back from the bottle and stared him down. “You liked that, huh?” he said, and his voice should have been venomous but instead it sounded… dead. Sam didn’t reply, and when Dean started chugging again he realised that this was more than just an attempt at erasing the last few hours. If there was anything of the old Sam left in him he would stop this. If there was anything uncorrupted by demon blood he would yank the bottle away now, but he didn’t. Dean finished the whole thing, and Sam vaguely knew he could pump his stomach by force if he had to.

Dean passed out five minutes later, and cried in his sleep for another ten until Sam glued his tear ducts shut.

Then he clambered up beside him and shoved a leg between Dean’s thighs, spooning himself around his brother’s comatose back, with one hand resting snug around Dean’s cock.

This didn’t change a thing. Dean was still his.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought part three was going to be Dean figuring it out, but I guess there's always part four??  
> Please leave thoughts, comments and kudos, I live off your feedback.


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